Inside story: This piece of literary art was done during an activity in an English class. The picture above was a painting done by Vincent Van Gogh in the 19th century. The task was to make any piece from the painting.

                                                        Photographs. Memories.
                                                                by Paul John Lanic

        It's been awhile since the last time I saw her bedroom. It was still on its last setting: the bed by the wall, the table, the jars and bottles, the chairs, her clothes, the dying blue wallpaper, the windowsills... the picture frames that were hang all over. It was painful. The memory of her sleeping on that same old bed caused me the same pain that I felt before.
        She was on her 20's when I met her. Beautiful in her long hair, her brown eyes shielded by her glasses, the simplicity of her being -- everything in her amazed me. We became friends. In fact, higher than any human relations. She was my best friend, my mentor, my mother, my love. She was the only girl who made me realize what life is all about. Everything was fine. Until one day, she was hit by an illness and decided to live the rest of her life inside her bedroom. Slowly, very slowly, her not-so-good health worsened.
        On that last day, alone with her on her bed, we talked about so many things. I thought she has taught me everything she knew about life, but I was dead wrong. More wisdom comes out as life is about to end. Painfully for me, she died. But the memories of her was still clinging on her bedroom. Her soft voice echoed throughout the quiet room as I opened the door. Her pictures smiled at me as tears find their way out of my eyes. The photographs in her bedroom were the last living memories of her -- memories that will and shall never be deleted in my long-term memory.

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